THE ORPHAN SCRIVENER ISSUE # SEVENTEEN l5 OCTOBER 2002

As this newsletter is written, trees are almost visibly turning orange, brown and yellow and a raw wind rustles through their barer-by-the-day twigs so it looks unlikely that last year's spectacular colours will not be repeated. Geese are already leaving, their departure marked not by the tinny, crackling voice of the announcer informing us that the train now leaving Platform Three will be stopping at , but rather by an eerie yelping which when heard during the night hours reminds listeners of folk tales concerning the supernatural Wild Hunt or perhaps Gabriel and his ratchet hounds racing through the dark sky in pursuit of damned souls -- or in some areas chasing a long dead but still wildly unpopular local landowner or magistrate.

Even in these modern times there's something poignant in the air during these dying days of summer. Despite autumn's fruitfulness and golden days, its scattered frosts, cold days and thinning sunlight remind us that winter will soon be coming down the pike. Thus we scurry around to make sure we have a box or two of canned comestibles and a supply of candles stashed away in the pantry Just In Case.

On the other hand, when in the l9th century Thomas Hood spoke of shadowless autumn listening to the silence, he was perhaps more fortunate than he knew. Silence is not, alas, the case today, for whereas autumn has indeed arrived it has also brought with it (as you've doubtless already noticed) this latest edition of Orphan Scrivener, never a quiet production at the best of times!